The Waker and the Sleeper
by Wordwryhta
Summary: An evil beyond anything Murdoc has ever experienced has settled on Plastic Beach, and the Black Grimoire could be the Gorillaz' ultimate salvation or their utter destruction.  Only Noodle knows the power the Black book holds.  Reposting of an old story.
1. Prologue: David and Esther

**Okay, I have ruminated on this story for quite some time, and I decided to go ahead with it. Thanks to everyone who supported me in my decision to discontinue The Last Girl for the time being (I will place a HIATUS marker on the story until I have fixed it). I hope I didn't frustrate everyone with that decision. It was not my intention. **

**Thanks to Shade's Crusnik for reading over this and helping me to feel comfortable enough with it to repost it. **

**Bear with the first chapter, which serves as a prologue, and merely sets the stage for the actual chapters to follow. I realize that this isn't a normal format for a fanfictional story and certainly not a Gorillaz story, but bear with me. All will be explained in the end.**

**I love you guys so much, and prize your input. Please read and review for me. Kay?**

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Marriage was not supposed to be this way. When she was a girl, as most girls did, Esther had often dreamt of the man she would marry. He would be a large man; tall with broad shoulders and long muscular arms that would encircle and protect her as he carried her, laughing through the trials that life managed to toss toward them. Enter David Kavanaugh: the man's man. He was strong, dark, powerful with chestnut eyes and the devil's smile. He was a man who could get what he wanted when he wanted it, and, much to her delight, he wanted Esther. Their courtship had been a short, whirlwind romance, and he had taken her to live with him in Lisheen where he was the production manager of a large mining facility. For Esther, though it was hard at times living with a rough and tumble character like David, she somehow managed to remain content and optimistic.

But that was before Joshua.

Joshua Kavanaugh, the unborn child that had shattered the fragile visage of a happy marriage, the unrealized dream that they had waited five long years and four months for, and the miscarriage that would reveal the hard truth of Esther's inability to bear the son that David so longed for. David wanted a son. But this was not a desire that was borne out of the need to nurture and love a child. It was the desire to display his virility and to carry on his family name. It was a mark of honor, and that honor, in David's mind, lay buried in a tiny grave in Lisheen's West Chester cemetery. With Esther unable to provide the legacy of virility that he so desired, David grew more and more distant from her until finally their day to day life consisted of a dance of neglect and hostility. Eventually, hostility bred violence and anger, and Esther the victim.

She tired to ignore these thoughts and the rants of her husband as the horizon tossed and rolled into the blackness of the night beyond the window out of which Esther stared. She became enamored of the way the headlamp sliced through the landscape, casting a ghostly illumination across the countless trees and shrubbery that lined the country roads between Limerick and Lisheen. The dark of the night and the white of the light moved with each other in a slow dance of light and shadow, mesmerizing her as she filtered out her husband's harsh words.

It was July 16, her nephew's seventh birthday, and she and her husband were on their way back from her brother's house where they had been celebrating not only a birthday, but the announcement that her sister-in-law was going to have yet another boy. "That bastard, d'ya know wot he said ta me?" David's icy voice rumbled from the driver's side of the car, "'Ya can always adopt, Dave,' condescending son of a bitch an with his wife standing not ten feet away blown up like an effing whale. _Three effing_ boys, Esther, _three._ An' the way he leads us around tha' house like it's an effing castle. I tell ya' it ain' fair. Tha' bastard gets all tha effing breaks," he spat venomously, tossing his cigarette out the window.

Esther nodded her head slowly. She knew better than to completely ignore her husband when he was in one of these moods, so she allowed him to vent his spleen even if he was talking about her brother. At least if he was ranting about him, he would keep his focus, and his hands, off of her.

She continued her scrutiny of the landscape when her eye caught a glimpse of something red and white on the road ahead.

"'I cant believe we're having another boy,'" David continued, mocking her sister-in-law's singsong voice, "Effing bitch... I tell you, Esther, one day those two are going ta push me over the edge, and I swear I'm gonna-"

"DAVID!" She screeched, reaching forward and grasping the dashboard, bracing herself for the eminent impact.

"Christ!" David wrenched the steering wheel to the right as Esther's scream sliced through the air.

The car lurched, spinning violently as the rear tires skidded off the road. Esther found herself tossed roughly and would later be thankful that she and David were both strapped into their seats. When the vehicle finally came to a rest, Esther was panting and whimpering. She ventured a glimpse at her husband who was still gripping the steering wheel, his teeth gritted and his knuckles white. Upon looking out the window, she realized that they had completely spun around and were now facing the object that had caused their near-accident. It took her a few moments for what she was looking at to sink in, but when it did, a choked cry ripped from her lips and she scrambled out of the car.

The thing in the middle of the road was a girl of no more than seventeen years old. She walked slowly and purposefully, completely unaware of the chaos that had ensued due to her presence. But it wasn't her presence that shocked, it was her condition. The young girl was completely naked and covered head to toe in a thick red layer of what Esther could only assume to be blood.

Esther's mouth opened and closed and surprise, and she ducked her head to look back at David who was still motionless behind the steering wheel.

"David! Get your coat!"

She ran forward and stopped a few yards before the young woman as David joined her.

"Holy mother of God," he said as he took a step toward the girl. "Miss?" he glanced toward his wife.

"Miss," Esther took the coat from her husband's hand, "are you alright?" The girl stopped. Her blood-soaked hair fell across her eyes, making it impossible to see them.

"Esther, be careful," David grunted as he turned to retrieve the pistol he kept under the seat. His eyes scanned the roadside, searching for any signs that this might be a trap.

"Miss?" Esther said again, reaching a shaky hand, unsure of touching her. She could only guess what had caused this girl to wander the Irish back roads at this ungodly hour and in this condition, but she knew that it must have been horrifying. Though she could not immediately see the cause of the blood that covered the young woman, Esther recognized that the girl must be in need of immediate medical attention, or she would perish.

Finally, gathering her courage, she brushed aside the girl's hair. Bright but blank green eyes stared through her, focused on something beyond Esther, something that could not be seen. The older woman had to admit, the girl was stunning; obviously Asian, probably Japanese, but the ghostly pale skin and white lips that reflected through the red of the blood were disconcerting.

Esther threw the coat around the girl and called back to her husband.

"David."

Her husband joined her at her side, still eying the terrain cautiously.

"We have to take her to a hospital," Esther said to him, unsure of what his reaction would be and bracing herself for another violent tirade. Much to her surprise, David nodded and lifted the tiny girl into his arms.

"Jesus, she's light."

Esther led them back to the car where she opened the back door and climbed in, taking the girl's head into her lap as her husband placed her on the seat.

Though she was unnerved as the girl still stared blankly at the roof of the car, her eyes seemingly unseeing as they drove back to Limerick, Esther found that her eyes kept moving to the back of her husband's head, confused by the dark thoughts that had begun to seep through to her brain.

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"What happened?" the nurse gasped as Esther and David flew through the sliding doors of St. Claire Hospital's Emergency ward. She ran to grab the nearest gurney, shouting toward a pair of orderlies taking a short rest in the break room. They sprang to action immediately.

David spoke when she returned, "We don't know!" he was panting.

"We found her walking down N-18 in this condition. We've never seen her before. I think she's in shock."

One orderly reached forward to take the girl from David, who shrank back almost imperceptibly, tightening his grip on the small girl, a deep scowl carving a path down his face.

Esther saw this and allowed her hand to brush David's arm, causing the man to jump. He snarled dangerously but relinquished his grip to the orderly who grasped the catatonic girl and placed her on the gurney.

"Wait here," the nurse barked before casting a glance to the second orderly who nodded and made his way to the phone to call the police.

Esther shuddered slightly as she watched the girl disappear down the hallway and had begun to wrap her arms around her body when she saw the blood on her hands. A wave of nausea washed over her at the sight. She looked around the room almost frantically.

"May I go to the bathroom? I would really like to clean up," She whimpered as she fitfully rubbed her hands on her pants, attempting to wipe them clean.

The orderly pointed to the small bathroom down a short hallway, and Esther followed his direction, locking the door behind her.

She turned on the sink and rubbed a healthy dose of soap between her bloody fingers, and began to vigorously scrub her hands, attempting to rid herself of the blood that covered them. She frowned, it shouldn't be this hard to get blood off, but she found that it had already dried to her skin and seemed as hard as concrete in some places. After several minutes of scrubbing, her hands were red and raw, but it seemed that the blood was gone. Sighing, she sat down on the toilet and ran her hands through her short blonde hair, trying to gather her mind around what had happened that night. Who was this girl, and why was she wandering that road alone? Who could have done such a horrible thing to such an innocent-looking child? She didn't know, and she was sure she didn't want to know. There were some crazy people in this world and few of them would hesitate to victimize a young woman as pretty as the girl they had found.

Her face darkened when thoughts of how her husband had victimized her through the years flowed slowly like a river of blood through her tired mind. He could be so cruel, so hateful, so violent, and, try as she might to appease him and make him happy, he blamed her for everything.

A foreign emotion began to rise in her gullet; a dark, ominous emotion that scared and exhilarated the normally timid woman: Rage. Rage directed toward the man who had promised to love her "till death do us part" began to swell in her bosom. In that moment, she found it intoxicating, liberating, but she knew it wouldn't last. She knew it would flee from her as soon as she placed her hand on the doorknob and left the bathroom to return to her husband's side, but for now, she enjoyed it and the dark images it fed her. Dark images that all involved blood and violence. Dark images that ended with her husband staring back at her with glazed lifeless eyes.

A knock at the door shook her from her reverie. She jumped off of the toilet and yelped.

"Esther, what the hell're you doin' in there? Hurry the hell up!" David barked at her from the other side of the door.

"Oh, I'll be out in a minute, honey. I was just resting me eyes," she laughed sheepishly. "I guess I was tireder than I thought."

There was silence for a second, "Well, the orderly got us some o'those doctor clothes. Said something bout us tracking blood all over their precious effing hospital. They also gave us these Haz-mat bags to put our old clothes in."

She cracked the door and her husband peered at her.

"What you been doin' in here all this time? Ya still got blood all over ya effin' hands."

She lifted her hands in front of her face and saw that he was right. Her hands were still covered in blood. She gasped, "My clothes." She grasped at her jacket and shirt and saw that the girl's blood had soaked through her husband's coat to her own clothes. Washing her hands, she realized would be futile until she changed. She stepped back and allowed him to bring the scrubs in and place them on the back of the toilet.

He laughed, "They're sure gonna be pissed at you, Este. You got blood all over this effin' bathroom." He turned and scrutinized his wife for a second, "Hurry the hell up, will ya? The cops will be here any minute, and I'm sure they'll have lotsa questions for us." He stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Sneering, Esther jerked the lock closed and turned to look at herself in the mirror again. She began to peel her bloodied blouse off of her body, gasping as she did. Her skin was painted with the blood as well. Panic that it would never come off consumed her, and she frantically began to rip the rest of her clothes off. A small cry issued from her lips as she looked and saw that the blood had soaked through to her bra and panties. They had to go too. She needed to get everything she was wearing off. Everything associated with that girl had to go.

Once she was fully nude, she grabbed a handful of paper towels and wet them. She began to frantically scrub at her skin, desperately trying to wash away the blood. It was everywhere: In her hair, down her legs, on her arms.

Tears began to fall down her cheeks as she grabbed another handful of tissue and began to scrub until she was beginning to wonder if the blood she was trying to rid herself of was her own.

"No, officer," David grumbled into his hands as they rubbed his tired eyes, "for the thousandth time, we never seen this girl before in our lives. We found her walking down the road on the way ta Lisheen."

Officer Linde frowned, "I understand what you're saying, Mr. Kavanaugh, but what I don't understand is how a young woman winds up buck naked and covered in blood in the middle of nowhere."

David bared his teeth as he glared at the officer, "_We. Don't. Effing. Know._"

"Is she alright?"

Esther, who had been silently looking at her hands throughout the entire questioning glanced up at the officer who was now in a staring contest with her husband.

"What?"

"The girl, is she alright? Will she be okay?"

Linde opened his mouth, fully intending to make a snarky comment toward the shrinking woman when a knock at the door distracted him.

"Officer Linde, may I see you?"

He sighed and lifted himself from the table and addressed the other officer in the room, "Keep an eye on them."

He followed the doctor who had interrupted the interrogation through the door and into an adjoining conference room, folding his arms across his chest.

"We have finished our examination of the girl," the doctor began, glancing up from his clip board at the officer who raised an eyebrow in response. The doctor cleared his throat and continued, "Our examination has revealed that the girl is in perfect health. Not a scratch or bruise on her. Pelvic examination shows that she has not been sexually assaulted. Chest x-rays, CAT scan, EEG, EKG, all came back negative. Medically, she is one of the healthiest people I have ever seen."

"So the blood, it belongs to someone else? Should we begin a search for an injured party?"

The doctor shook his head, "That's the strange part, officer. As I said, she doesn't have a scratch on her, but the blood," he paused while he tried to fathom what he was saying. "blood type results have come back and confirmed that the blood she was covered in the same type as her own."

Linde furrowed his brow, "How is that possible? From what you and the Kavanaughs have said, there was enough blood on that girl to fill a horse. Now you tell me that she's as healthy as one, and you want me to believe that this girl is covered from stem to stern in her own blood?"

"I don't want you to believe anything, Officer Linde. Those are the facts."

"Shit" the policeman cursed under his breath as he ran his hands through his hair. It was just his effing luck to wind up with the hard cases. "Well, we ran a check. There are no reported cases of a missing Japanese girl with purple hair and green eyes. We have no idea who she is." He eyed the other man for a minute, "Any sign of abuse?"

"As far as we can tell, no. As I said: Medically, there's nothing wrong with her."

Nodding his head, Linde walked out of the room. With no injuries or any other indications that she had been abused, he had no reason to keep the Kavanaugh's any longer. Walking back into that room, however, was not going to be pleasant in the least. There was something wrong with that couple. They had nothing to do with the girl, of that he was sure. Their stories matched perfectly, but there was something that made him uneasy about them. He felt it when he walked in that room. There was a black aura that seemed to radiate from them, and there was something dangerous in the way that woman looked at her husband. He couldn't put his finger on it, but just looking at that woman sent chills down his spine. A bad feeling was no reason to hold the couple any longer, unfortunately.

Sighing, he finally opened the door to the couple's room and studied the two.

"Well, I guess you're free to go, but don't think about going anywhere but home until we get this all sorted out."

"Bout effing time," the man growled, jerking his head back to his wife, "Let's get the hell outta here, Este. See if I ever help anyone again. Four effing hours for bringing an effing girl to tha effing hospital, and what do we get? Interrogation for four effing hours!" Linde could hear David's rants as he walked out the door and stomped down the hallway.

Esther rose quietly and began to follow her husband. She stopped at the door and looked back at Officer Linde with a strange look on her face. It was an expression that hovered somewhere between a smile and a smirk, and it unnerved the seasoned officer. He watched the seemingly timid woman as she walked down the hallway and disappeared out the door. There was just something that wasn't right about that woman.

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LIMERICK POST

MAN FOUND DEAD: WIFE MISSIING

Sunday, June 17, 2010

34-year-old man was found shot to death on the side of N-18 early this morning. The police have identified the man as David Kavanaugh, a production manager at Lisheen's iron mine.

While there is evidence of a struggle, police have no reason to suspect that the death was a result of a robbery.

His wife, 30-year old Esther Kavanaugh is missing and being sought for questioning in relation to the murder...


	2. IW 304

**OMG, that took forever to write. I hope everyone likes this chappy cause my best friend, Joanna, and I worked so hard on it.**

**Thanks to my non-Beta, Shade's Crusnik, Persephone Perez Pott, and SweetCherryCandy for the reviews. And eternal thanks to by friend for sticking with me and working through this vitally important chapter.**

**Just to give everyone a heads up, I will be changing my name to WhiteDragonBad soon, so be on the lookout for it.**

**Slowboat to Hades is going well, but I don't think you guys are giving these authors the love they deserve. Make with the reviews: PM them if you don't want to add to my reviews.**

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_One Year Later_

"Just wot the 'ell do you think yer doin'?"

The man bared his teeth as he turned his head toward the overweight-but-attractive nurse who had just invaded his tiny sanctuary. He pushed himself off of the cold rack of medical supplies against which he had been leaning and took an obnoxiously long drag from the cigarette clamped between his bony fingers, pulling his lips into a sneer.

"W'dya think, Swee'heart?" his voice rumbled as he grasped her wrist and pulled her into the closet with him, "I wos waitin' fer you."

He leaned forward to press his lips against hers, but she turned her head. Undeterred, he buried his face in her neck as she began waving her arms about madly, desperately trying to diffuse the heavy smoke that hung around their heads.

"Murdoc," she whined, and he cringed. As much fun as what's-her-name was for a good romp in a closet, she had an astonishingly annoying voice, and as such, he had made it a point on these little trysts around the looney bin for which she worked to not allow her much time for talking. Much to his supreme disappointment, however, she continued, "We can't, now. They's sure ta smell this smoke a mile away. I'd be su'prised if someone ha'nt smelt it already and wos on their way right now to bust our arses."

Murdoc bit his lower lip and growled his rolling laugh, "Yer assumin' tha' we're gonna be here when they break down this door to, as you so eloquently put it," he mocked her tinny nasal voice, "'bust our arses,' now ain't ya?"

She stopped her frantic flailing and turned her head toward his slowly, narrowing her eyes as she did, "Wha' d'you mean? Where're we goin'?"

"Oh, but that would ruin the surprise, now wouldn't it, Swee'heart?"

A small smile appeared on the edges of her lips. She was intrigued, "Wot kinda su'prise?"

Internally, Murdoc rolled his eyes. He knew that Gladys or April or whatever the hell this particular chick's name was was thinking that he had bought her some sort of lavish gift or some useless bauble to woo her, and maybe secretly, she hoped that one of those baubles would represent some sort of commitment from him, but she was sorely mistaken. His intentions for her had nothing to do with the "long haul" or some other such nonsense as that. As with all of the women whom Murdoc Niccals had bedded, or, in this case, closeted, she was meaningless, a nameless face useful for only one purpose: sating his rather active libido.

However, tonight, he did have an extra use for her and that was to satisfy his equally active curiosity. Several nights before, after one of their wilder rendezvous, Murdoc had found himself wandering down the wrong hallway only to be yanked back almost violently. Furious, he turned to give her a good telling off only to see her staring behind him with an almost terrified look upon her face.

"Don't go down there," she hissed.

Immediately intrigued, he played the concerned boyfriend and wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders.

"Wot'samatter, Swee'heart?" he crooned, inwardly vomiting. "You look like you seen a ghost."

"_She's _down there."

Curious, he turned and looked. The hallway was completely empty, save only themselves and a door with a small sign that read "Isolation Ward" at the other end.

"You might have ta be a little more specific, hun."

Immediately, a change occurred in her appearance. Where there had before been a fearful look, there was now blank emotion, and with a cold, clinical voice, she droned, "We don't discuss _her._"

Barely contained rage flashed fleetingly across his face, but was quickly replaced with a calculating smile.

He nodded, "Sure, Swee'heart. Whateva you say."

Not one to be so easily dismissed, Murdoc began searching for a way to find out exactly what would so easily scare a nurse trained to deal with the worst society had to offer.

Obtaining the information he needed had been easy enough. It was simply a matter of picking a security guard, following him to his favorite pub, getting him drunk, and taking his access key when he had been sufficiently soused. Thanks to his lady-friend, getting on to the premises was an easy venture as well as she had clearly demonstrated holes in the security system. That was how, a few days later, he found himself heading directly to the records room he had passed many times on the way to his trysts.

Once inside, he fished a small torch out of his pocket and flicked the switch on the side, not wanting to turn on the lights and attract possible attention to the room. Shining the light over the rows of filing cabinets, Murdoc's salacious grin faded. While the room was not cavernous by any stretch of the word, it was brimming with filing cabinets stacked one upon the other. It would take him days to sort through all of the patient files housed in this room! And even then, how was he supposed to know which person he was looking for?

Once again, however, Murdoc Niccals' infernal good luck came to his aid: Upon closer inspection of the cabinets, he saw that they were divided by wards. He scanned the room, reading the signs that marked what division the cabinets belonged to until he found the sign he was looking for: Isolation Ward.

"Bingo."

Pulling the top drawer open, he was surprised to see that it was populated with only five impossibly thick files. He shrugged and after balancing the flashlight on his shoulder and holding it in place with his chin, he grabbed the first file greedily.

"Brown, Samuel," he mumbled to himself, turning open the file, "hmm...Severe schizophrenia. Slaughtered his parents. Dog told him the blood of his victims cleanses the earth. Lovely fellow."

Shaking his head, picked up the next file and scanned it.

"Meacham, Charles. Antisocial personality disorder. Attempted to murder his neighbor by setting her on fire. Said if he couldn' have her, no one would. Nice, but not wot I'm lookin' fer," he scanned the next few files. "Oppenheimer, John; Parsons, Daniel; Webster, Frederic. No, no, no. What's-her-name said 'she'"

It was then that his eyes fell on the last file in the stack, and he smiled, "Hello, my pretty. 'Winstonford, Winifred.' Don' know too many male 'Winifreds,' now do we? Lessee," he skimmed the file quickly, gleaning from what he read that Winstonford, Winifred had drowned her two children after her husband left her for their nanny, then attempted to strangle a nurse with her bedsheet, claiming that the nurse had been plotting with her husband to kill her. Murdoc grinned and muttered to himself, "I wouldn' wanna go near her either if she'd tried to snap my neck with the linens, you spicy tart. Seems we might wanna arrange a reunion between you two."

He deflated, however, upon flipping to the last page and seeing the word 'DECEASED 17/8/2010' stamped in large red letters. He cursed under his breath and slammed the file shut. Only one woman on that floor, and she didn't even have the decency to still be alive. He jerked the drawer further out to allow him to replace the file and paused as a flash of pale yellow caught his eyes. He peered in and grinned. Hidden at the rear of the drawer was another file folder. Apparently, it had been hastily stuffed behind the other files and had fallen. He reached in and pulled it out, frowning. It was much thinner than the other patient files. In fact, it seemed to be comprised of a solitary page.

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WALLINGTON HOSPITAL PATIENT: Patient2323

MR#: QO-11-60

ADMISSION: 13/8/2010

Ward: Isolation

ROOM#: IW 304

ADMISSION PSYCHIATRIC EVALUATION

Date of Exam: 14/8/2010

IDENTIFYING DATA:

Patient 2323 an Asian female believed to be between the ages of 16 to 21.

HISTORY OF PRESENT ILLNESS:

13/8/2010: Patient 2323 transferred to Wallington after unexplained fire at previous hospital. The patient is said to have been found in catatonic state in isolated area. Initial examinations have confirmed that patient suffers from profound catatonia probably due to severely traumatic event. Identity remains remains unknown.

17/8/2010: Patient has been placed on close observation after staff have discovered her with unexplained bruise marks on neck. ADDENDUM 18/8/2010: Even though bruising appeared to be extensive, patient has fully recovered with no apparent permanent damage.

20/8/2010: Staff and patients report personal mental and emotional disturbances after prolonged exposure to the patient. Possibly due to mass hysteria.

26/8/2010: Patient rushed to medical after it was discovered that she had deep lacerations on her wrists. Instrument used remains unknown. Note: Injuries similar to patient discovered dead in room this morning.

3/9/2010: Patient discovered with massive wound to chest. Released this afternoon. Appears that Patient 2323 possesses abnormally accelerated healing ability. Patient has been submitted for scientific medical examination.

4/9/2010: Recent events in relation to patient 2323 have necessitated the complete isolation of patient. Specially authorized personnel will be charged with the care of patient from this point on. No personnel will be allowed in the presence of 2323 without the accompaniment of security staff.

PAST PSYCHIATRIC HISTORY:

Unknown

PAST MEDICAL HISTORY:

Unknown

* * *

He paused momentarily upon reading "Asian female," but immediately dismissed the thought, shaking his head. She was dead. It was no use to dwell on the past. He cleared his mind of the memories that washed over him and focused on the second to last entry.

"'Appears that Patient 2323 possesses abnormally accelerated healing ability. Patient has been submitted for scientific medical _examination?'"_ he chuckled to himself. "Yea, right. I'm sure there's gon' be a lot more 'testing' than 'examining' isn' there?"

Scanning the file again more carefully, he read back over the few dates listed, his eyes focusing on the second date: For some reason, it nibbled at his consciousness. He paused momentarily before retrieving Winstonford, Winifred's file and flipping to the back page. Once again, the date, 17/8/2010, stamped in large red letters flashed before him. He read more carefully down the page.

The last entry said, "Subject was found dead in room this morning. It is apparent that she strangled herself using her bedsheets."

"Strangled herself," Murdoc placed patient 2323's file alongside Winifred's. He looked back at the date that doctors had found her with bruising around her neck: They were the same. Reading on, he found the next date on which she had been discovered with mysterious injuries: August, 26. "I wonder..." he growled to himself.

He reopened Brown, Samuel's file and flipped to the back page. No luck. It would appear that he was still among the living. Reaching back into the cabinet, he produced Meacham, Charles' file and once again turned to the back page and grinned. "DECEASED: 26/8/2010" glared back at him in angry, red letters.

"'Subject was discovered dead after evening rounds. Apparent suicide by wrist cutting.'" Once again, he consulted 2323's file, "'Deep lacerations on her wrists,' fascinating."

Now deeply intrigued, he scanned down the file to the last injury she had received: "Massive wound to chest."

He now greedily dove back into the patient files, pulling "Oppenheimer, John" out with shaking hands. Murdoc was crestfallen, though, to read that "Oppenheimer, John" was most decidedly alive and crushed to find that "Parsons, Daniel" had not been shuffled off this mortal coil.

"All my hopes rest on you, "Webster, Frederic," Murdoc mumbled. He was not disappointed upon turning to the last page and seeing the glorious crimson date, "3/9/2010", blazoned across it. He frowned, however, when he read last entry in the file.

"Deceased: Suicide."

He slammed the files roughly back into the cabinet and cursed. How had Webster, Frederic died? Did his mode of death match Patient 2323's injuries? Had Winstonford, Winifred; Meacham, Charles, and Webster, Frederic injured 2323 before they killed themselves? If so, why? He frowned. So many questions left unanswered, and these files, tragically, weren't going to give him the answers.

He did know, however, exactly who could. His daggerlike teeth gleamed as he began to formulate a plan by which he would find out everything he wanted to know.

Now, back in the closet, Murdoc was brandishing a red handkerchief.

"Aw, Swee'heart. Now why woul' you wanna go an ruin tha surprise by askin' nasty questions."

He leaned in and kissed her roughly while his hands moved the handkerchief up and around her eyes. He began humming a tune that made her think of childhood jaunts on a carousel and placed his hands on her hips, spinning her, making the room dance madly around her.

Then, still humming the tune, he peeked his head out of the door to ensure that they were still alone. Once he was sure they were safe to leave the room, he led her out, spinning her occasionally and effectively disorienting her.

After several minutes of dancing quietly down the hallway, they reached the doorway that led to the Isolated Ward. As he reached into his pocket to retrieve the keycard, he bean singing the words to the song he had been humming.

_So call in the submarine_

_'Round the world we'll go_

_Does anybody know_

_If we're looking out on the day_

_Of another dream?_

Hidden beneath the soft lyrics he was singing, the small beep of the electronic lock went unnoticed by his dizzy, giggling companion. Once the door had been opened, he waltzed her down the hallway, his mismatched eyes scanning the room numbers, looking for room 304. The hallway was empty, save for a small red cart at one end, the kind of cart used to move medical supplies.

He was feeling particularly confident that his plan was coming off so well, and with a flourish, he gave one last twirl. It proved to be one too many, however as her feet became tangled in themselves, and she tripped, placing a hand on the wall to steady herself.

Her reaction was immediate. She took a ragged breath and snatched her hand back as though it had been burned.

"Where are we?" she whispered as she began to visibly shake. Her hands quickly snatched at her bindings, but Murdoc dove forward to stop her, pinning her arms at her sides.

"Uh-uh-uh."

Her face paled to a sickly green, "Murdoc, something is wrong. We 'ave ta leave. We 'ave ta leave now!" she choked, twisting her body violently, attempting to free herself from his grip. Suddenly, her voice dropped to a rasping whisper, "_It's here."_

Murdoc looked at her, fascinated, "'It?' I thought you said 'she.'"

It was then, she became frantic, clawing at Murdoc's arms, "No! NO! It's here! _She's_ here! Don't take me to her! Don't make me go! Please, Murdoc."

He let her go, and she collapsed at his feet, sobbing. He cursed under his breath. She was making this no fun. He couldn't stand a woman with no backbone, too much work.

He glared at her contemptuously before flapping his hand in dismissal, "Stupid slag," before turning and stalking down the hallway. His eyes scanned the door tags, reading off the numbers as he went.

"301, 302, 303...yes," he growled greedily and rubbed his palms together as he stood before room 304. Finally...

He peered into the small window and nearly collapsed against the doorframe as his brain grappled with the information his eyes were sending him. He wanted to tell himself that he was mistaken, that what he was seeing couldn't possibly be true, but the shock of purple hair, the bottle-green eyes, the straight lips and upturned nose, and the long, gangly limbs were unmistakable: Inside the sterile white room, with her white hands placed placidly on her lap, Noodle sat on the bed.

A sound somewhere between a whine and a wail escaped his throat, and he clawed at the doorknob, desperately trying to wrench the door open, but it was locked fast.

"Noodle!" he shrieked as he began to pound his fists against the metal door, "Noodle-girl, hold on. I'm gonna get ya out!"

He turned, prepared to dart back down the hallway with the intention of relieving his companion of her keys, and fell back against the door. She was standing next to him, but her back was to him. By the way her shoulders were shaking, he thought that she was sobbing, but he was unconcerned.

"YOU!" he bellowed, grabbing her shoulders and spinning her to face him. Once he did, he froze. She wasn't crying. Much to Murdoc's absolute infuriation, she was laughing, her face turned toward the ground. He felt a white hot bubble of rage rise within him, and he tightened his grip on her arms. "Wot have you lot done to her?"

She continued to laugh, not looking at him.

"ANSWER ME!" he roared, shaking her.

Her eyes rose to meet his; cold, lifeless blue eyes. The bubble inside him turned to ice as she pulled her lips into a scathing sneer.

"_Parvulus abyssus. __Ego have perfectus meus secu._"

She raised her hand, and Murdoc jumped backward upon seeing that she was wielding a diamond-sharp scalpel.

"Wot're ya doin?" he snarled, backing into the doorframe.

Suddenly, her face changed, and tears began to fall as she brought the instrument to her neck.

She choked, her voice shaking, "_Is est vestri verto iam," _and drug it across her throat, spilling her blood.

Murdoc howled in horror as she staggered forward a few steps and collapsed on the ground, a sickening gurgling sound issuing from the gaping wound in her neck. He couldn't help but look into her terror-stricken eyes as they slowly glazed and went blank. Her body jerked violently several times and then finally went still.

He wasn't sure how long he stood watching the red circle of blood grow around her, but he knew some time had passed before he breath returned to him. When it did, he gasped desperately and crumbled to his knees. He had thought himself long past the capacity for tears, but as he watched the woman whose name he had never taken the time to learn lying on the floor in a sea of her own blood, he felt the telltale chill of liquid leaking down his cheeks. He tried frenetically to understand what had just happened, but his stubborn brain refused to accept it.

"Noodle!"

Reality finally wove its way into his consciousness, and he crawled forward toward the nurse's body. Her keys glinted, silver on the crimson of her blood, strangely beautiful. He snatched them up and spun round. Once again, he peered into the window, but was horror struck at what he saw: Blood was pouring down the front of Noodle's smock from an open flap in her neck. Murdoc howled, frantically stabbing at the lock with each key until one slid in. He twisted it, but it refused to move. Cursing under his breath, he grasped for the next one, but the slick keychain slid out of his hand and fell with a delicate tinkling sound to the floor.

"Fook!"

Once again, the keys were in his hand, and he fumbled until, once again, a key fit into the lock. He turned it, and laughed when this time, it turned easily. He bolted into the room and slid to his knees in front of her.

"Oh, God," he sobbed, grabbing the bedsheet and placing it against her neck in a futile attempt to stem the flow of blood. "Noodle-love, please don' die on me. Please," he wailed, pulling her off of the bed and onto his lap. "Please, don' die."

He looked down at her face. Her eyes gazed past him, focused on something that Murdoc could not see. It was then that he noticed that she was breathing normally. There was no gurgling sound as there had been with the nurse. He remembered the files and how one had said she seemed to possess an unnatural healing ability. Tentatively, fearfully, he lifted the sheet and inspected the wound, which was now much shallower than it had been.

With a quick sigh of relief, he grasped the now bloodied bedsheet and wrapped it tightly around her body.

"I'm gonna get you out of here, Love. I'm gonna get you home."

* * *

**How was that? I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Review and tell me what you think.**


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